


Family Ties

by tannne



Category: Burnt (2015), John Wick (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tannne/pseuds/tannne
Summary: Santino and John pay Santino's cousin a little visit in London. (Max cut ties with his family ages ago, but Santino's father did help him out, when he got into trouble for cutting of someone's nose.) So now that Max is out of prison, Santino gets to have a talk with him. John gets to meet another of Santino's relatives. And nobody at all gets hurt.
Relationships: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick, Tony Balerdi/Adam Jones
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeverwinterThistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/gifts).



> Here is the John Wick/Burnt crossover nearly nobody wanted, but I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Just some background info. Since I decided that Max and Santino were related, I felt the need to give Max a more Italian name. So I went with the Italian form of 'Maximilian', which is 'Massimiliano' and the surname 'Gallo', which I just liked cause Max had no surname in the movie.  
> I couldn't find a name for Santino's father, so I went with 'Massimo'.  
> As for Giana, in this series, Santino didn't use his marker to have her killed. Instead he used it to make John accompany him to Italy for the upcoming weeks to help him deal with Giana's coronation, with his hate and grief concerning his father as well as his new job as Giana's second in command. Santino used those weeks to woo John and, secure in his position with the boogey man at his side, doesn't much care what anybody else thinks. (That will be all explained in the first fic of this series, which I will hopefully finish soon.)  
> This fic is chronologically going to be the second one, taking place after their time in Italy.

It was raining and slightly misty. The buildings and occasional tree seemed to be grey and bleary as they sped past them. Which could be taken as a bad start, if one happened to be superstitious, mused John. Their driver didn’t seem to care. He just skillfully navigated the wet streets, on occasion shouting insults to other drivers. To John it simply was typically British weather. Judging by his narrowed eyes and heavily compressed lips, Santino took the weather upon their arrival in London Heathrow as a personal insult.

“You know, every time I visit London, it rains.” As if to underline his point, Santino slashed his hand through the air, indicating out of his window.

“It will stop in the next 20 or 30 minutes.

“Si,” Santino nodded, while shooting a last glare through the window, and murmured, “and ten minutes after that, it will start again.”

John nearly regretted his attempt at cheering his partner up, since he now had Santino’s full attention. Instead of their wet surroundings, he himself was being studied. Even if he couldn’t see where Santino’s eyes were lingering on his stiff shoulders or the tense way his hands were clasping his knees, he would have felt his heavy gaze anyway. Shaking his had slightly, probably at the sorry sight John made, Santino’s lips quirked up.

“Mio dio, John, you’re on edge again, aren’t you? It’s fine. We’re in London. Not in a war zone in South Africa. And we’re staying in the Continental.”

John only nodded. What he didn’t say was one name, Perkins. Santino would only point out that John had taken care of her, so there was clearly nothing to worry about. To John, it only brought home how there might be rules of armistice at the Continental and no business to conducted, however, if one of their guests was determined, nothing could stop them from killing on Continental grounds. The heavy consequences wouldn’t console John much if Santino or he were dead.

His partner’s next words, however, did help him slightly to relax a bit.

“Remember? We’re staying only for a couple of days, three at the most. After all, we are only here to pay a little visit to Massimiliano.”

“He is one of your cousins, right?” John frowned as he once again tried to remember whether he’d seen Massimiliano before. There were so many cousins.

“Si and no, to the look on your face. You haven’t met before.” After a slight pause, in which he seemed to reconsider his sentence, Santino amended, “Or at least I don’t think you have met each other as there is no reason why you should have ever come across him. You see, Massimiliano is my age. He left the family when he was 16. That was before you ever crossed feet with one of the D’Antonios, was it not?”

John nodded again. At 26 he would have been with the marines, stationed all over the world. And he would have stayed with them for another five years.

Besides him, Santino exhaled noisily.

“Well, the grandmother of my dear cousin was the favorite sister of my father. She was the eldest. Apparently, she as good as raised him and was some sort of mother figure to him.” Santino made a dismissive hand gesture. “Anyway, the sister had only one daughter, who had only one son. And although Massimiliano cut ties with our family, father still had a soft spot for the only grandson of his beloved sister.”

As opposed to his own son, Santino didn’t need to say. John could nearly taste the bitterness dripping from his partners words.

“So, when father became aware of Massimiliano’s legal troubles, he chose to intervene as a last favor for his big sister.”

“Hence the reduced sentence.”

“Hence the reduced sentence,” agreed Santino. Slowly John reached over and patted his knee, before resting his hand there.

Internally, John sighed, deeply frustrated how awkward his displays of affections were. He really needed to work on that. He had been just as terrible with Helene. Unbelievable, that his skills as a hitman remained top notch after nearly five years of retirement, but his skill of expressing affection became rusty after only a couple of months of disuse.

Santino’s hand settling warmly on top of his stopped his musings. Realizing how hard Santino was gripping his hand, his reassurance seemed to be appreciated, no matter how awkward it was delivered.

“Like you said, we’re only here for a couple of days. After that, it’s back to New York and you’ll only have limited contact with Giana.” His crooked smile was rewarded with a marginally strained one by Santino. But his hold on his hand softened and if Santino was ever so slightly leaning into him for the rest of their drive, John wasn’t going to mention it.

John was sitting in a wing chair in the dimly lit lounge, near the crackling fireplace and sipping a cup of caffè in the London branch of the Continental, while Santino was getting them organize. John had been forbidden to touch Santino’s dress shirts again. Apparently, he was wrinkling them just by looking at them. So, he had been banned from their room and ordered to wait in the lounge for his partner, much to Ares amusement.

He was covertly checking out the other occupant of the room, noting the faces of old acquaintances, but also registering every unknown face in order to investigate them later, when Andrew, the manager of this Continental, sat down in the chair opposite him.

“John, welcome in London. So sorry I couldn’t be there at your check-in to welcome you. I hope you are doing well?”

“Andrew.” John nodded.

After he realized that John was content with the silence, Andrew pressed forward. “I hope your room is to your liking?”

“Yes. Santino is getting us settled in.” At least he tolerated Ares presence, which allowed John to sit somewhat calmly in the Lounge. To be fair, Ares was more than a match for any threat they might face here and loyal to the bone to Santino.

“Ah yes, yes, I heard you were back into business, so to speak.” Finally, Andrew seemed to give up on pleasantries. “Just two quick questions, John, then I’ll let you get on with it.”

John suppressed a sigh. Here we go again.

“Is your target the Queen, John?”

“No, she isn’t.” Somehow, he didn’t think Andrew would believe him, if he told him he wasn’t working but here for pleasure, more or less, instead.

“Very well. Are you here for any member of the direct royal family?”

“I’m not here for them either.”

Andrew exhaled noisily and sacked together with relief. John leaned back in his wing chair, a bit exasperated. Going by Julius’ and Andrew’s reactions, one could get the impression he was travelling all over the world to kill every public figure head or head of state. In reality, it hadn’t even been a head of state. The contract had been for the eldest son of a South American dictator, whose second son had had more political aspirations and the right criminal connections to help them along. It had been the only time. After that, John had declined any similar contracts. Honestly, the money wasn’t worth the trouble. Exfiltration had been a nightmare. John shivered just remembering it.

The manager of the Continental in Washington D.C. was especially anxious every time John stayed there. Apparently, there was a real reason to worry about whether John would take any of the president’s tweets as a personal insult and extract vengeance. As if John had twitter. Santino had had to explain to him what a tweet was. Nowadays, John was avoiding D.C. because he worried the manager would one day have a nervous break down due to John’s presence.

“Ah, good, good. Glad to have that cleared up. And here is Santino. Please, the both of you, do enjoy your stay at the Continental. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe our sommelier is waiting for me to discuss new purchases.” With a nod to Santino, Andrew sailed from the room.

At Santino’s raised eyebrow, John finally allowed himself to sigh.

“He was worried that I was here to kill the Queen.”

“Why would you take a contract on the Queen,” frowned Santino. His partners clear bafflement made John smile.

“Exactly. Why would I!”

“Obviously, paranoia is finally catching up with Andrew.” Spotting John’s still half full cup of caffè, Santino reached across and finished it in one big gulp. Only to instantly grimace.

“Merda. They call this caffè? How could you – no, I forget your crippled taste buds wouldn’t notice the difference between caffè and this slush.” He patted John’s shoulder in commiseration but couldn’t keep the smirk from creeping onto his face.

“Anyway, I informed Ares that we are heading to the Tate Modern for the afternoon. She’s getting the car ready. While I can’t save your taste buds, I may be able to install a sense for art in you. Since our dinner reservation is for 8 pm, we have more than enough time for a quick drop in.”

After their ‘short’ three hour visit, which had consisted of Santino explaining the installations to a baffled John, who tried to see what Santino was describing, but mostly failed to do so, and Ares snickering at his incompetence, while still doing her job, John had been thankful for their quick stop back at their hotel room to freshen up before they had made their way to Massimiliano’s restaurant at the Langham.

As they were led to their table by the maître d’, John habitually noted all exits, took in the huge window fronts and wanted to be dismayed by the irresponsible security risks they posed but was already somewhat indifferent to them, since Santino seemed to thrive on security risks, especially fucking big windows. So instead John focused on the other patrons and the staff, or better said, their reactions to his and Santino’s arrival. No one took undue note of them, which was slightly reassuring.

At their table, Santino tipped hand pointedly to gather his attention.

“Will you please relax at least somewhat, John? Try to enjoy he meal. This is currently one of the best restaurants in London. At least Massimiliano works in a suitable establishment.”

John smiled sheepishly at him.

“I know, I know.” He held up his hands in front of him. “Ares and your guards are stationed around the property. She has run background checks on the staff and todays reservations. I have run background checks.” Dropping his hands apologetically, he continued softly, “I’ll try to tone it down a notch or two. I’m sure you’ll let me know if my attention wanders too far away from you or our dinner.”

“Of course, mi amore.” Santino’s smile was rather sardonically. “There is no way you will fail to notice if you focus to much on something else.” Santino nudged his knife an inch to the right, startling a laugh out of John, then opened his menu smartly.

“Shall we order?”

After they had placed their orders, or to be more accurate, Santino had ordered for them after he’d taken one look at John’s pained expression as he studied the menu and had scoffed at him, it was time to say hello to Massimiliano, as Santino had put it.

John allowed himself to sigh, as he followed Santino, who strode full of confidence into the kitchen, as if he owned the place. This was why people tried to kill Santino.

The kitchen was buzzing with life. People were rushing around each other, things were bubbling in pots and some very sharp knives were being used for dicing and chopping various ingredients.

Because of the noisy background, their entrance remained unnoticed for the few seconds it took Santino to reach his cousin. The resemblance was so striking, there was no way to deny they were related. If John didn’t know that they were cousins, he would have taken them for twins.

“Massimiliano.” Startled, the man in question nearly dropped the frying pan he was holding.

“Santino?” Before he could say anything else, a disheveled and slightly insane looking cook, whom John recognized as Adam Jones, stood in front of them.

“Who the fuck are you? No, don’t answer! Out! Get the fuck out of my kitchen!” His eyes were blazing with fury and he repeatedly jabbed his finger to the door leading to the dining room, as if that would help them find their way outside. As long as he didn’t start jabbing Santino, John was fine with it. After all, he was used to drama queens. Seemed to him that chefs tended to be one just as much as mob bosses.

Massimiliano, however, seemed to be anything but fine with the outburst and turned quite pale.

“Adam, listen Adam.” He grabbed his boss by the shoulders. “That is my cousin, Santino. So please, calm down, chef.” He stared pleadingly at Jones, willing him to understand something he didn’t want to put into words, when another man, who John was sure was the owner, Tony Balerdi, swept in.

“Adam, Max. Gentlemen.” After polite nods in their direction, he quirked an enquiring eyebrow in Massimiliano’s direction. “What is the problem?”

“Sorry to disturb dinner service, Tony. My cousin dropped in for a quick word.” John saw Balerdi taking in Massimiliano’s distressed posture, Santino’s bored disinterest and Jones’ rising temper.

“Of course. Family is important, no?” He flashed them a quick smile. “Why don’t you take a short break and talk in my office?” He indicated a room walled of from the kitchen with a couple of windows looking out onto the workspace. “I’m sure Adam will be able to manage without you for a bit. Isn’t that right?” Balerdi’s glare seemed to snap Jones out of his rage and after running a hand through his hair and sighing deeply, he smiled sheepishly at everyone.

“Sure Tony. And sorry for earlier.” Turning to one of the cooks, he shouted to be heard about the noise. “David, you’re on fish. Move, MOVE. The fish needs to be in the window in five. Do you hear me?” After noting the quick, “Yes, chef.” Jones hurried along to give some more orders.

Balerdi nodded to them and returned to the dining room to look after his guest. Massimiliano had fidgeted silently and now lead them to the office.

After he’d closed the door, Max turned to face them and waited nervously for Santino to speak, ignoring John completely. Santino enjoyed his apprehension for another moment, then embraced his startled cousin and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Massimiliano. It is good to see you.” When he didn’t look reassured in the slightest, Santino, chuckling, continued. “Cheer up, dear cousin. If I were here to kill you. You would already be dead.” John wasn’t astonished when Massimiliano calmed down after Santino’s last sentence and finally relaxed to some degree. You could ties with your family all you wanted, some thing simply were ingrained in you and in case of the D’Antonio family it was that you stood by your word.

“That’s better.” Santino nodded approvingly. “Massimiliano, meet John Wick. John, this my cousin Massimiliano Gallo.” John inclined his head politely, opting to leave his hands free. Just in case. Because both of them had the D’Antonio temper in them. And whenever two D’Antonios met each other, it was better to have your hands free.

“Nice to meet you John. And please, Santino, it’s Max.” Santino pulled a face, but nodded his acquiescence.

“If that’s what you want, sure.”

“Uhm, Santino, I know I’m kinda late but, really, I’m sorry for your –“ he stopped finishing his sentence at Santino’s raised hand.

“I’ll certainly inform Giana of your condolences, whom I am sure will appreciate them. But let’s not pretend that we’re sorry my father’s dead, shall we?” The accompanying smile was full of sharp teeth.

Yeah, just the wrong thing to say, thought John. Deciding that for the moment, this would be the best use for them, he stepped close to Santino and put a soothing hand on his shoulder in some sort of half embrace.

“Okay, sure.” Looking from him to Santino, Massimiliano was obviously confused. “He isn’t you bodyguard?”

“You really have cut ties with our word, if you don’t know John’s reputation,” laughed Santino, settling more firmly against John’s side. “John is the most feared hitman in the underworld, although he is partly retired. So no, he isn’t my bodyguard. However, I managed to entice John here to a far more superior assignment than being a guard dog. John is my partner.” John rolled his eyes and mouthed assignment. Then decided fuck it and spoke up.

“Assignment. Honestly. My assignment is keeping you alive and everything around you from being burned to the ground, because I am your partner. You make it sound like you’re paying me to be with you. This isn’t some twisted version of ‘Pretty woman’.” Looking at Max, he jerked his head in Santino’s direction. “He is way too fond of his grenade launcher.”

Max was looking startled from him to Santino, obviously still hung up on the word grenade launcher, as if he feared one might suddenly pop up out of thin air.

“Congratulations? Did, er, the family take the news of your relationship well?” And therefore the homosexuality and lack of heirs, remained implied.

Besides him, Santino radiated satisfaction and was smiling like a shark.

“I dare them, I fucking dare them to take exception to it. Giana has no children and is too old to have any now. So, I am her heir. And she is perfectly happy with it, because there won’t be any off springs, who could plot to help her to an early grave. She knows I am content with America and John, so I won’t make a move for her throne. Anyone else who wants her place would have to get rid of both, her and me, which is a lot of work. Also, John likes me to be alive and well. So, I couldn’t care les what anybody else thinks about me or my relationship.” While Santino had been talking, Max had taken a step back, as if to signal that he wouldn’t dare.

“Er, that’s good?”

“Si, it is.” Santino nodded satisfied, while John, in his mind, already saw Santino firing his grenade launcher at SUVs on the streets of New York and not staying down like he and Ares told him, instead relishing the fires and smoke all around him. He had better order some more suites with an additional focus to being bullet proof being put on being fire resistant at their Continental.

“Anyway, Max. It has been some time since you were released from prison. But as you can understand, we had been rather busy for the last months.”

“Yes, of course. And I just wanted to let you know, Santino, how grateful I am that the family helped me out.”

Santino studied his cousin seriously.

“As long as you realize that it will remain the one and only time the family intervened on your behalf.”

“I know,” Max’ voice suddenly became just as hard and steely as Santino’s, “it was a last favor for the favorite sister’s grandson. No more help from now on.”

“Exactly. And you will do well to remember that. Although you might not be a part of the family business, in the underworld, it is still common knowledge that you have D’Antonio blood. As long as you have nothing to do the law enforcement or the underworld, no one cares. But should you have another run with either one and be caught, it would reflect rather badly on our family and our abilities. Then we would be forced to make sure the families ties stayed cut dead. Is that understood?” Santino stared Max straight into the eyes, making sure he saw how serious the D’Antonio clan was about this.

John was sure Max had already been aware of this, considering how scared he had been upon his cousin’s arrival. But tradition had to be upheld, at least to some degree. Curiosity getting the better of him, John decided to ask.

“What were you arrested for, anyway?” Noticing his partner’s startled look, he explained. “I wasn’t paying attention to the grapevine while I was retired, so I hadn’t heard of your cousin’s prison sentence. And during our trip here I hadn’t thought about why he had been in prison but rather about all possible outcomes of this meeting.” Looking back at Max, John was astonished to see his eyes blazing with the same anger Santino’s did, when he remembered some slight.

“Oh, it was blown out of proportion, yes?! You see, I worked in this restaurant and I am sous chef, yes?” He started waving his hand in agitation. “So, I know how to do my job and how get shit done.

And then there is this pezzo di merda. Claims to have worked with some of the world’s best chefs, like Alain Ducasse and Gordon Ramsay. Hot stuff, yes?” Waiting until they nodded, both of them trying to hide their amusement at his outburst, he continued. “So, we think he can cook. Obviously, must be able to cook,” his hands were thrown theatrically into the air, “so I station him on fish. And I think to myself, eh, what is all the fuzz about him? He is no Alain Ducasse. But he doesn’t overcook the fish, so all is well for some time.

Then it is that time of the year,” for a second it looked like Max was about to spit on the floor in disgust, but at the last moment remembered he was in his boss’ office. “Fucking Valentine’s Day. Every customer wants some kind of change to their dish. No sauce, chocolate sauce, no yellow carrots but asparagus, never mind that it’s not in season, make it heart shaped, hide this ring in the Beef Wellington and the list goes on. You see?” They murmured their agreement, but John could feel Santino shaking ever so slightly with silent laughter, as he no doubt imagined a frazzled Max cutting vegetables into hearts and stuffing engagement rings into filets.

“And what, I ask you, does this piece of shit do, huh?” Now he was staring at John, since he asked him in the first place.

“Sorry, I have no idea. I’m not much of a cook.” With a quick hand wave his answer was dismissed.

“I’ll tell you what he did. He plated the monkfish upside- fucking-down!” Max roared, apparently reliving the situation. “He has only been cooking the same dish, our signature dish, for months and suddenly, he starts plating the monkfish upside-down?!

So, he makes the dish a second time.” Max voice got deadly quiet. “Everyone makes a mistake once, eh, I say to myself. But then he plates the fish upside-down, again. I mean, what the fuck? And I see the chef starting to get annoyed. Cause now it has to be done again. And our customers are waiting for their food and we are getting behind on orders.

And what, do you think, did he do the next time?” Max was nodding along with his words now, as if in confirmation. “That’s right. He plated the fucking fish upside-fucking-down. He plated him wrong three fucking times!” Max was shouting again and waving three upheld fingers around. After a minute of heavy breathing he was calm enough to continue in a nearly matter of fact voice.

“So, I cut of his fucking nose. Actions have to have consequences.” Max shrugged unapologetically. “You can’t plait fish upside-down three times and not expect any kind of punishment.

And, what everyone always forgets,” now Max was exasperated, “I did put his nose into a fish locker so it could be reattached.”

Well, John was certain now that besides the good looks, Max had also inherited the D’Antonio temper and arrogance. Believing that, keeping a nose cool enough so it could be sewed back on, should be counted in his favor. Max could be lucky they hadn’t put him in a psych ward or declared him a psychopath.

“Did you actually take the stand during your trial,” enquired Santino. John tilted his head to the side, also interested in the answer.

“Of course I did. The judge and jury needed to understand the circumstances that led to this. Everybody would have snapped after being provoked like this.” Santino and John shared a quick unnoticed glance, while Max was rubbing his face with his hand. They were clearly thinking the same thing. It was very impressive that Max hadn’t received a higher sentence, especially if he had behaved like that on the stand. Santino’s father either made some people very rich or he must have had serious black mail material. Probably both, considering it concerned Massimo D’Antonio. Max was now fairly embarrassed by his outburst.

“Sorry guys. I still get somewhat emotional about it. But, you know, I’m working on it, anger management. Tony insisted.”

After a quick glare at John, daring him to make a quip, Santino stepped up to his cousin and smiled consolingly at him.

“Perfectly understandable. Don’t worry about it.” Glancing at his watch, he looked back at Max. “It has been nice to catch up with you, Max. I’m sure you won’t forget Giana’s message.” Santino started to walk out of the office, still talking. “Now I think John and I should return to our table, I’m sure Mr. Jones would like to serve us our orders. I can’t wait to taste his Turbot meunière. It came highly recommended.”

Stopping in the kitchen, Santino clasped Max by his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace and, while kissing him on both cheeks, murmured just loud enough for John to hear above the kitchen noise, “Enjoy your live. Let us never see each other again, si?”

After Santino stepped away, John came forward and shook Max’ hand.

“Let’s not meet again, yeah. Max.” Max nodded, clearly happy to see them leave, when Santino turned around, once again grinning like a shark, “And don’t fuck up our fish, Massimiliano.”

“It’s Max, for fuck’s sake, Santino!” Max’ shout was only heard by John, who was trailing behind Santino, because Santino had already stepped from the kitchen into the dining room.

John watched Santino reclining in his seat of his private jet. Looking at Santino’s neck, John once again became aware of the fact, that he would never grow tired of watching Santino. Be it in his graceful rest, permitting himself for once to let his guard down and be vulnerable. Or one of his scorching temper tantrums. John enjoyed experiencing every single one of Santino’s many facets. They made him enjoy live. So what, if it was a life full of death and violence. That didn’t have to stop him from finding happiness in it. Now he only needed to work on expressing his thoughts. Who knew, maybe one day, Santino would struggle to get a word in edgewise.

“Why are you smiling?” Santino had one eye open and was looking at him sleepily.

“Am I?” 

“Yes John, mi amore. That is called a smile.” His fond exasperation was nearly palpable. Now there was a small grin tucking the edges of that viciously lovely mouth upwards.

“I think I am just looking forward to being finally back home with you.”

Content, Santino closed his eye again.

“Well, don’t get too many domestic fantasies into your head.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I know you itch to test your grenade launcher,” murmured John as he reclined his own seat. The only indication that he’d heard him was his partners satisfied smile.

**Author's Note:**

> My dear yuletide gift recipient,  
> this is it. I hope you liked what I came up with. As I mentioned above, this is part of a series. Other works are already planned, some inspired by your prompts. So thank you for making me finally write in those two fandoms.  
> Happy yuletide!
> 
> Please feel free to comment and leave kudos. They make my day. I cherish every single one of them, although I am rubbish at replying to comments.  
> If you happen to stumble across any mistake, feel free to point them out. They seem to try their best to elude me during my proof reading.  
> Thank you for taking the time to read my fic. <3


End file.
